


Laces and Serving Girls

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, but with canon era costumes, just go with it!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 19:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13173336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: The modern au that nobody asked for: Jon and Sansa both work as servers at medieval themed banquets!





	Laces and Serving Girls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Titania_Queen_of_the_Fairies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titania_Queen_of_the_Fairies/gifts).



> Guys. I'm really stuck with something I'm writing and thought that perhaps trying something completely different may help 'loosen' me up! So please forgive me this awful one shot that was typed out on my phone today (so beware of typos!...well, more than you're used to dealing with when reading anything by me anyway! lol)
> 
> For Titania_Queen_of_the_Fairies for being patient with me with regards to her birthday gift fic (which I WIL finish - I promise!)

“Milady,” he murmurs, bowing as low as the tray and pewter pitcher of ale he’s carrying will allow. Sansa ducks her head and Jon decides there and then that the particular shade of pink on her cheeks is his most favourite colour. Sansa beams at him and hurries along towards the kitchens, her skirts rustling as she goes.

He sees her again in the Great Hall, offering a platter of breads out to the guests. Jon’s only known Sansa Stark for two weeks, but he’s pretty sure he’s never met a girl like her before. She hadn’t taken this seasonal temp work just for a bit of much needed extra cash (like he had). No, Sansa seemed to have a certain love and fascination for the ancient Baratheon era which made for her enthusiasm for the historically themed events they served at rather infectious.

Jon had originally groaned and grumbled when he was handed his costume for his role as a medieval serving lad at Winterfell Castle Events. He had thought that perhaps he’d be forced into a crisp white dress shirt, bow tie and an apron, but instead, he was handed scratchy woollen breeches, a dingy looking grey undershirt and a faux leather ‘jerkin’ (whatever that was). Sansa however had introduced herself by peeking ‘round the flimsy partition that separated the make-shift changing room for male and female employees. She’d overheard Jon curse at the lacings on his costume and offered to help.

“I’ll do you if you do me” the redhead had offered with a smile that made Jon’s heart leap into his throat. He must have stared at her dumbly with a mouth gaping like a fish, because Sansa had turned her back to him and swept her hair to the side to reveal the open corset to her costume. “I can show you how to do it. Trouble is, I can’t reach myself.”

Ever since then, after the brush of his fingertips on the soft, warm skin of her back as he clumsily fumbled with her laces, Jon had been more than a little interested in getting to know her more.

Sansa’s copper hair looked alight in the candlelit room as she made another round offering olde style ale. Jon eyes the crowd they had in tonight; some bigwig banking and investments company were having a corporate event and things were rapidly getting rowdy as the drinks and merriment flowed. He hoped he wouldn’t be mopping up the after effects of too much alcohol and spit roasted hog at the end of the night.

“Boy!” One overweight suited man shouted with a click of his fingers. Jon rolled his eyes and approached the raucous bunch of ‘professionals’.

“Yes, sir?”

“Send over one of your...what was it?” The man leant over to his companion to loudly bellow in his ear, “whatchu call ‘em again?”

“Comely wench” the man replied causing his friend to grin drunkenly.

“Yeah! Send one of your ‘comely wenches’ over to warm my lap!” He belched and laughed. Jon silently began to boil over, clenching his fist as he wondered if he could report to his superiors to have this bunch of louts thrown out early.

“Can I help?” Came the sweetest voice from beside him as none other than Sansa Stark appeared from nowhere. She held a pitcher of wine in her hand and a big smile on her rosey lips. Jon shifted his feet, angling his body as if he could shield her from the idiocy that was no doubt about to occur.

“You sure can darlin’” the drunken man drawled, “you’re a pretty thing. Come sit on my knee” he leered, patting his thigh.

“Uh...sir, we don’t-“ Sansa stuttered, her smile melted from her face. Jon’s skin prickled at her obvious discomfort. No one should be made to feel like that and this middle-aged man should know better - no matter how much ale he’s had.

“Isn’t that what you wenches used to do? Entertain the ‘menfolk’ back in  _ye olde times_?”

Jon shifted again, practically blocking Sansa from the man’s view and replacing it with his own murderous glare. “There are no ‘wenches’ here.” He growled.

“‘Serving girl’ then,” the man slurred, seemingly undeterred by Jon’s simmering anger wafting off of him like waves. “Come on! Didn’t we hire this place to show us a good time?!”

The drunken man barked out a belly laugh that was echoed by his companions. They all seemed to find his suggestions rather funny...until Jon had grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt and tugged him roughly. “Touch any of these girls and I’ll knock you the fuck out myself,” he snarled, feeling unbearably hot with rage. The Great Hall had fallen silent as all eyes watched the exchange. The man in Jon’s grasp paled a little but otherwise did nothing but gape back at him in shock.

“Jon” Sansa murmured quietly, placing her hand on his shoulder, the muscles tensing beneath her touch. “Jon,” she urged again, “its alright.”

“No,  _it’s not_ ” he bit out.

“Come on,” she tugged, “don’t lose your job over this.  _Please._ ”

“Listen to the wench, boy” one of the guests called out.

“Come on,” she tugged harder, “ _Jon, come on!_ ”

Before he knew it they had fled the hall together and were running through stone corridors hand-in-hand. Jon distantly realised that they were in part of the castle that was only open to the public on guided tours; but all he really focussed on was the grip of Sansa’s hand or the echo of her giggle bouncing off walls.

Sansa led him to a room and rushed to push the thick wooden door closed behind them. She leant back against it, breathing heavily with a smile on her face.

“You could get fired for that!”

“Worth it,” he panted.

“You know,” she pushed off of the door and started to wander deeper into the room, taking in what appeared to be a bedchamber of sorts as her breathing evened out, “my family used to own this castle.”

“ _Really?_ ”

“Uh-huh,” Sansa nodded back at him over her shoulder, “my ancestors gave it to the Northern Heritage Trust a few centuries back.”

“Wait...you’re...’Stark’ as in  _‘Stark-Stark’?!_ ”

Sansa chuckled. “Yep,” she paused to rub her fingers along the mantle above the empty hearth, “in another dimension, I’d be Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell” she smirked as she began walking back towards him.

Jon gulped at the slight hint of a predatory gleam in her eye as he sauntered over to him. “I guess a lowly serving boy should mind his manners around you then,  _my Lady_.”

“Yes,I guess he should” she purred, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself against the faux leather of his costume. Jon’s hands instinctively curled around her small waist. “We mustn’t do anything... _’improper’_.” Her last word was whisper across Jon’s lips before she plucked a moan from the back of his throat as their mouths joined in a hot but sweet kiss.

Jon and Sansa missed the remainder of their shift in the Great Hall, but returned to help clean up after their guests had left. No one said anything about their matching kiss swollen lips, dishevelled costumes and messy hair.

Sansa came over to him after they’d finished clearing away plates and goblets. “The lacing in these costumes are tricky” she smiled at him as her fingers toyed with the leather cord at the front of his jerkin.

“I’ll do you if you do me” Jon whispered.


End file.
